


The Scorpion and The Frog

by Tommykaine



Series: Portrait of a Serial Killer [6]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Abusive D/s, Abusive Relationships, Age Difference, Anal Sex, Challenge Response, Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Inspired by Roleplay/Roleplay Adaptation, Knifeplay, M/M, Mind Games, Murder Husbands, POV Abuser, Past Rape/Non-con, Psychopath, Read at Your Own Risk, Serial Killers, Size Difference, Spit As Lube, mentioned necrophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 08:28:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29415642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tommykaine/pseuds/Tommykaine
Summary: “You think I’d let him take you away from me?” he asked, nuzzling him with an unusual gentleness. “Angel… my cute little pet, my love, do you think I wouldn’t kill him first? That I wouldn’t kill you rather than let him have you?”“You promise?” Angel’s voice trembled, a deranged hope in his eyes. His fingers pressing against his lips, tracing his cheekbones, sinking into his hair. “Daddy, you promise me, right? You’ll never leave me? You’ll never let anyone have me if not you?”“Of course I do,” he easily lied, easily feigned a warmth he did not, could not, possess. “And you, my love? What would you give, if I asked?”Angel’s eyes were so full of love and tenderness, it was easily the most pathetic thing Antoine had ever seen.“Everything, daddy.”----Ten years after his revenge against the detective who captured him, the serial killer formerly known as The Blood Painter is on the run under a new identity, and with a very special pet by his side.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Series: Portrait of a Serial Killer [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1697614
Kudos: 6





	The Scorpion and The Frog

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the Explorers Challenge by LDF, using the following prompts:
> 
> Tamta - Replay  
> Hey, Soul Sister - Train  
> Love The Way You Lie - Eminem ft. Rihanna
> 
> It is also heavily inspired by the song "The Scorpion and The Frog/Trust Me" from the musical The Devil's Carnival.
> 
> Both characters come from a roleplay, and the character of Angel was conceptualized and originally written (in the roleplay) by "my friendly neighborhood lizard"

Marjorie was watering her plants in the garden when she heard an unknown voice from behind the fence.

“My, what lovely camellias.”

She gasped in surprise, turning towards the stranger. A tall, well-dressed man with greying black hair and a cordial smile on his handsome face. Marjorie couldn’t help but blush a little.

“Oh dear, sorry, I didn’t mean to shock you,” the man said with a small chuckle. Marjorie let out a small embarrassed laugh of her own.

The man offered his hand out to her. He had long, slender fingers. The kind of hands a pianist would have.

“My name is Antoine Delacroix. Pleased to meet you, miss…?”

“Finch. Marjorie Finch,” she replied, shaking his hand. His grasp was firm, but not too harsh. His palm was rougher than she’d expected it to be. “Mrs. Finch, actually,” she specified, to restrain herself more than him. She had never fallen for another man’s charms since her husband died, and did not intend to let herself slip now. Plus, he was a little too young for her. She wasn’t some kind of cradle-robber. Maybe if she’d been twenty years younger… oh well. She could still enjoy the view.

“I’ve been wondering about who was taking care of this beautiful garden since I first moved here,” he said, leaning over from above the fence and reaching out towards one of the rose bushes, gently grasping on one of the flowers to bring it closer to his face and sniff it. “Hmm, is this a Mister Lincoln?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t know,” she admitted, feeling a little intimidated. She had the distinct feeling that Mr. Delacroix knew far more about flowers than she did. “This is… _was_ my husband’s garden. He was the one who planted most of these plants. I’m not a particularly good gardener.”

“It must be hard to take care of such a big garden on your own,” he said in a sympathetic tone, standing up straight and resting his hands on the white picket fence, fingers tapping on the wooden surface.

“Oh, I’m not,” she quickly reassured him with a smile. “My grandson Nicholas comes to help me twice a week.”

“I see… then I think I must have seen him before. A dashing young man. What is he, sixteen?”

“Seventeen. He’s such a good boy.” She smiled as she thought of him. A kind boy with black hair and blue eyes, who loved plants almost as much as her dear Edgar had. Her daughter worried because he was not very studious, but Marjorie was sure he was going to have a bright future. She couldn’t quite explain it, but he just seemed to shine a light of his own.

“Well, my compliments to him too, then,” Mr. Delacroix said. “For the garden, I mean.”

He suddenly turned around as a car drove by, stopping next to his house. A young man with light brown hair and glasses came out of the vehicle to open the garage door, glancing towards them as he did so. Despite the distance Marjorie was sure she’d seen both him and the car there before…

“Ah, my son is here,” Mr. Delacroix said cheerfully, waving his hand to attract his attention. The younger man stopped and seemed to hesitate for a moment, then he approached the two. He looked like he was in his mid or late twenties and was much shorter than his father, with delicate features and light grey-blue eyes.

Yes, she was sure. She’d seen him when the moving company came by, about a week earlier. He’d seemed too busy to even notice her, supervising the men as they brought everything inside, including a large piano that she now suspected Mr. Delacroix liked to play. He seemed like the type of man who knew how to play the piano. He had this refined air about him, like some kind of aristocrat. His rough hands, however, suggested he’d seen harder times too.

The younger Delacroix stared at Marjorie in silence, until his father spoke again.

“Michael, this is Mrs. Finch, our new neighbor,” he introduced her, gesturing towards her. “I don’t believe you two have spoken before?”

Michael glanced up at his father for a second, then looked at Marjorie again. She was not quite sure of how to interpret his expression but there was something a little… well, she couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but the way he looked at her, it was… unnerving.

Mr. Delacroix placed his hand on Michael’s shoulder, gently stroking it in what seemed to be a reassuring gesture. “I’ll come inside in a moment. Did you get the fillet I asked for? And the wine?”

“Yes, dad.” Michael’s voice was soft and quiet, as if he didn’t want to attract attention. His face had relaxed at the gesture, his expression much warmer as he looked at his father.

“Good boy. Go wait inside. I won’t be long.”

Mr. Delacroix patted his back, and Michael gave a curt nod to Marjorie before turning around and walking back to the car to drive it into the garage. His father looked at him until the garage door was closed again before turning back to Marjorie.

“You’ll have to forgive my son, he’s a bit shy around strangers,” he said in an apologetic tone, his lips curled into a small smile, but there was a sad look in his eyes. They were an unusual shade of green, in fact they almost seemed to have a tinge of yellow to them. “He was very attached to his mother. He looks so much like her… a wonderful woman. He’s never been the same since she passed away.”

“Oh dear, I’m so sorry.” There was genuine sympathy in her voice. She remembered how hard it had been for her and for her daughters to lose Edgar.

Mr. Delacroix sighed, glancing towards the big house behind him. “I should get going. I’m sure we’ll have the chance to talk again, Mrs. Finch. It’s been a pleasure. Please give my compliments to your grandson, it’s been a while since I’d last seen such a lovely garden.”

“Thank you, Mr. Delacroix. Till next time, then.”

Marjorie watched as the man walked away, feeling a little bad for him and his son. She knew from experience how hard it was to lose one’s spouse, especially after being together for so long.

As she went back to watering her flowers, she hoped she could get to know her new neighbors. Aside from his good looks, that Mr. Delacroix seemed to be a delightful gentleman, and she was sure his son would prove to be one too once he opened up a little more. Maybe next time she would invite them over for a cup of tea.

Antoine took his shoes off as soon as he went inside, stepping into his more comfortable handmade slippers to avoid soiling or otherwise ruining the nice parquet floor of the house.

He followed the sound of cupboards closing and opening and found the younger man in the kitchen, putting away the groceries. One of the floorboards creaked slightly as Antoine strode inside, prompting the other to stiffen and turn around, relaxing a little when he recognized him. His expression, however, remained tense.

“You should be nicer to the neighbors,” Antoine lightly reproached him, walking up to him and taking a can away from his hand, briefly checking to make sure he didn’t cheap out before putting in in the cupboard in front of them, his body pressing against the other’s smaller one for a moment as he did so, chest against his back. The other’s body had filled out a bit since their very first meeting, but Antoine still towered over him. He heard him hold his breath at the contact and he smirked.

“I’ll let you cook this evening. I trust that this time you won’t burn the steak,” Antoine whispered against his ear, his hand moving to rest on his shoulder, squeezing it a little too hard. He could distinctly hear him swallow, one of his hands grasping on the edge of the counter so tight that his knuckles paled. He felt a rush of cruel satisfaction, and even a small twinge of arousal. So many years had passed, yet his little Angel still couldn’t hide his feelings. He’d fully grown into a man by then, but his fear was as delightful as ever.

“Angel?” Antoine asked, his voice calm, but he let the beginning of a threat sneak into his tone. He let his hand slide up and to the side, fingers wrapping around Angel’s soft throat. He could feel his heartbeat and, if he pressed down just a little more, he could even feel the vibrations from the soft whimper that escaped him.

“I won’t, daddy,” Angel finally replied, his voice small, almost pleading.

Antoine believed him. He knew what would happen if he was too careless. He wouldn’t need to be taught twice. Antoine moved his hand up to stroke his jaw and his cheek and heard him sigh in relief, he felt him lean into the touch and then his smaller hand went to rest above his own, as if he feared it would be pulled away any second from then.

“I think I might take up gardening,” Antoine then said, his hand moving to caress his soft light brown hair. Angel kept it slightly long and took good care of it, just the way he liked it. Angel would do anything he asked him to, of course. Such a good little pet. The best one he ever had.

But good pets still needed discipline. Constant reinforcement, both positive and negative. He had carefully raised this puppy after taking it away from its previous owner, he could not afford to be too lax.

“You know, Mrs. Finch has a grandson who helps her take care of the plants. A cute little thing. A little young, perhaps, but such a lovely boy.”

He held back from chuckling when Angel stiffened at those words. He hadn’t said a word, but Antoine could tell what he was thinking. And he was ready to fan the flame.

“Perhaps, in the future, I could use him for my art. Or maybe…”

He pretended to be assorted in thought, his fingers still tangled in Angel’s soft hair, but its movements stopped. He no longer was petting him, as if he’d absent-mindedly forgot about what he was doing. As if his mind was elsewhere, or rather, on someone else.

“I-I… isn’t it too close?” Angel said, breaking the silence and turning around, looking at him with such a painful look in his beautiful eyes. Like a kicked puppy. “If… if something happens to one of our neighbors, then-”

“Are you trying to teach _me_ how to get away with murder?” Antoine interrupted him, tsking loudly and staring him down until Angel cowered, looked at the floor and biting his lip, almost on the verge of tears.

Oh, it was too precious. Antoine would have wanted to laugh, but he kept looking at him sternly.

When his hand moved away he saw him flinch, as if he expected him to hit him. When Antoine caressed his face again, he glanced up at him with the same hurt look and his breath hitched. Antoine could see tears glistening, just a few harsh words away. He could make him cry if he wanted to. The awareness of the power he held above him went straight to his groin. He wasn’t hard yet, of course. It would take much more than that for that to happen, especially now that he was pushing sixties, but he was starting to feel a certain desire stirring inside him.

“Look at me, love,” he told Angel, the soft deceitful word easily making breach into the other’s defenses. A small, faint glimmer of hope, just waiting to be smothered. Antoine’s lips curled up into a malicious smirk and, as he spoke again, his voice was filled with mockery. “You’ve grown so much. Your father would be proud.”

Angel did look up, but he winced. The lower edge of his eyes was wetting. Even after all that time, it was still a sore subject. Antoine never brought up Seth if not with the specific intent to torment him. And the jab about his age was nothing but another nail in the coffin.

Angel knew him well, or at least, he probably was the last living person who could come closest to say he did. He knew of his habits and of his tastes. He knew he himself still looked youthful, but no longer young enough to fit within Antoine’s extremely specific tastes. He knew he was an outlier, an exception, and he knew that Antoine was not the type to make exceptions. He liked his steaks cooked rare, he liked his wine to be just at the right temperature, opened up just at the right time before the meal to let it breathe. He liked expensive tailored clothes, tight enough to fit him perfectly but loose enough to move comfortably in. And he liked his men young, on the verge of adulthood, right before the moment he stole the last breath of life from them.

“In fact, sometimes I can’t help to wonder if maybe the time has come for the both of us to move on,” Antoine said, smiling as he pushed the dagger in and watched it sink inside Angel’s heart, as the tears finally spilled and trailed down along his beautiful face. Such a fragile pretty thing. So broken, and yet there was still so much left to crush. A gift that kept on giving. Sometimes, Antoine almost felt grateful to Seth and his long-since-then-deceased wife for creating such a perfect plaything for him to toy with over and over again, until it would be too worn-out and ravaged to be worth his attention. But he couldn’t imagine it happening anytime soon.

“I-I can still help,” Angel pleaded, his hands grasping on Antoine’s jacket. Antoine would have warned him about wrinkling the fabric, but he was basking in his terror, in the desperation that emanated from him as the fragile man trembled and stared up at him like his life depended on him – which it did – while his breathing grew shallow and his voice shattered. “Please, sir, I can still help!”

Antoine grasped on his hair, pulling his head back. In a split second he took a large knife from the wooden block on the counter and pressed the sharp tip against Angel’s throat.

“Would you help me find someone to take your place, when you’ve grown too old and boring?” he asked, his eyes cold as he stared straight into Angel’s terrified ones. “Would you dig your own grave and crawl in it, if I asked? Would you kiss my gun and press the trigger yourself?”

“Please don’t ask me that,” Angel begged, his face a pathetic mask of anguish, bright red and dripping with tears, drool and snot. He was sobbing so hard that he scratched himself against the knife, one of his hands moving on Antoine’s face, fingers tracing along his jawline, his lips, the wrinkles around his mouth and the sharp curve of his cheekbones. “Please, please, daddy, please, I love you, I love you, please… p-please don’t get rid of me… please d-don’t leave me… I-I can be useful, I… I swear I can, I will do a-anything, I-I… I…”

Antoine’s mouth crashed against Angel’s, teeth scraping against his plump lips, tongue pushing forcefully past them, tasting the salt of his tears and snot and the metallic tang of blood mixing with the faint minty aftertaste of his mouthwash. He lowered his knife and let his arm move behind Angel’s back instead, his other hand pulling on his hair so hard that he was sure he was pulling on his roots. Rather than trying to struggle, the younger man threw his arms around his neck to hold himself up and mewled into the kiss, his tongue gently responding to it while allowing him take over.

When Antoine pulled back and bit down on his lower lip, hard enough to draw more blood, Angel’s hand went to his hair and he sunk his fingers into the greying strands, short fingernails lightly scratching at his scalp. He cried out in a mixture of pain and pleasure, and when Antoine finally let go of his hair to grasp on his chin, keeping his head tilted up and smearing the blood together with his snot and tears with his thumb, Angel’s pupils were wide and his breathing frantic.

“Daddy,” he gasped, tongue darting out to lick at his fingers.

“You poor useless thing, you couldn’t do anything without me, could you?” Antoine told him, sneering at him, and Angel nodded frantically.

“I wouldn’t, I couldn’t, please… I’ll be good, so please… don’t be angry, please, _please-_ ”

“I’m not angry,” Antoine replied, his tone softer than before. He let go of Angel and put the knife on the counter. Angel briefly glanced at it. He could have picked it up and used it against him, of course. Antoine knew that. He was ready for it. But, if the other man thought of it, it didn’t show in his gaze. Instead, he looked back at Antoine and his hands were still holding on to him. He was still crying, but not sobbing. His puffy, reddened eyes made the beautiful blue-gray color of his irises stand out. The cerise flush of his face looked lovely against his pale skin, and his lips were swollen and red, though that was also because of the violent kiss.

In that moment, Antoine realized he was growing hard. Judging from the way Angel pressed himself against him, he was not the only one to have noticed.

“Poor little puppy. Of course I couldn’t throw you away,” Antoine whispered, one hand moving down to grasp on Angel’s ass, groping him from above his jeans. Still so perky and round, and he knew that, underneath his clothes, his skin was firm and smooth. “I’m the only one who can take care of you, after all.”

Angel smiled at him, a genuine smile, though there was something a little off about the way his eyes stared up at him as if he was God himself, blessing one of His followers with the warmth of His light. Not that Antoine disliked the thought of being worshipped. He figured that, for the poor deranged thing, he was the closest thing to a divinity. He certainly was the only one he had left, which was both hilarious and tragic considering how Antoine was the one who drove him to madness after stealing him away from his real father.

His real father, Seth, the man who arrested him and threw him in a maximum security prison back when Antoine still going by the name “Gabriel” – though he was best known as the Blood Painter, a serial killer who turned his victims into works of art. Seth had robbed him of his freedom and dignity right when he was having the time of his life, clipping his wings as he was soaring higher than ever before, so of course Antoine had to pay him back. It just so happened that the man had a son, a beautiful boy of eighteen years of age, so full of hope and dreams. Of course, Antoine had carefully crushed every single one of them, destroying his spirit and severing the already-frail bond between Angel and his father.

At first, his intent had been to drag that poor little Angel to the very depths of Hell before sending him to Heaven with his mother, or perhaps to let his father have back what little was left of him when he was too far gone to be saved. Yet, as his twisted game with Seth played out and his time with Angel drew nearer to its inevitable conclusion, Antoine found himself strangely captivated by him. The more he tore away at his sanity, the more Angel started to be drawn to him like a moth to a flame, developing a weird, twisted attachment to him. Antoine had exploited that sick sort of affection to torture the boy’s father without giving much thought to it at first, but somehow the boy’s presence grew on him over time.

He wasn’t in love with him, of course. He doubted he was even _capable_ of feeling such a thing in the first place. He couldn’t recall ever loving anyone, not even his own parents. Not even his real father.

He guessed he found the boy endearing in the same way one could find a small animal endearing. Angel was his adorable little pet, he belonged to him and really, it would be cruel to abandon him like a stray after the poor thing had grown so attached to him. He’d had dogs before and they never lasted long, but… well, somehow, he felt like this one would be more resilient.

So far, time had proven him right. Almost ten years had passed and Angel was still at his side. He had grown older, maybe a bit too much for his taste, but he was still his cute little pet and Antoine had no intention of getting rid of him anytime soon. It was just too much fun to play with him. Plus, he had to admit, while he was still in great shape he was getting older too. Hunting for new victims alone would be troublesome, even if not impossible. And, despite how innocent and lawful Angel had been at first, he now made an excellent hunting dog.

But that was not the only reason why he’d kept him around. After all, there were a few things he could do with him that he wouldn’t do with an _actual_ dog.

“I’ll leave the groceries to you. Come to the bedroom when you’re done,” Antoine told him in a low commanding tone, giving a long lick to his tear-streaked cheek and pressing himself against him, leaving no doubt to his intent. “Don’t make daddy wait too long, alright?” he whispered against his ear before biting down on his lobe, drawing a soft cry out of him.

“Yes, daddy,” Angel practically moaned out, still holding on to him until Antoine untangled himself from his embrace and licked the blood off of his thumb, before turning around and walking away. He started to whistle a cheerful tune as he left the kitchen, hanging his jacket by the entrance before heading upstairs to their shared bedroom. Although, it would maybe have been more correct to say it was Antoine’s bedroom, where Angel was allowed to sleep, and sometimes linger. After all, Antoine liked to have his privacy.

Not that he had much to hide from Angel, if anything. The foolish little thing loved him unconditionally. It felt strange, but also kind of refreshing, to be able to be so open about his inclinations and his limitless cruelty with any living person. He was still playing a part with him, of course, pretending to care more than he actually did, but for the most part Angel was the only one who got to see the “real him”.

One day, maybe, he would tell him about Sam. His very first pet.

Like everything else in the house, the room catered entirely to Antoine’s tastes. Though he’d been indulgent enough to allow Angel to leave a few possessions scattered here and there. His mp3 player, a copy of _The Count of Monte Cristo_ that he was currently reading, the Smith & Wesson revolver he’d reluctantly learned to shoot with.

He walked up to a tall bookshelf, taking out a large hardcover book and sitting down at his desk, his fingers caressing the matte surface of the front cover almost lovingly. The words “The Blood Painter: Madman or Visionary?” stood out in blood red lettering against the black cover. It was one of Antoine’s favorite takes on his artistic career. A shame he’d had to interrupt his production once he let go of his old identity… or at least, he no longer could share his masterpieces with the rest of the world. Together with Angel, he’d done his best to document his more recent work, and he knew that one day the time would come to reveal it to the public. Hopefully by then people would be more accepting of the sacrifices necessary to create something memorable, and if not… well, he wouldn’t need to worry about it once he was dead. One way or the other, he knew that his name would never be forgotten.

Anyway, the author of that book – a certain Cathrine Alvarsson – greatly admired Antoine’s work, to the point where the serial killer strongly suspected that her assurances about how deplorable and inexcusable his actions had been were more of a platitude for the sake of being allowed to publish her book than something that reflected her true feelings. He would have loved to pay her a visit, take the chance to leave the States since the book had been published in Sweden, but sadly she’d been smart enough hide behind a fake identity – assuming she even was a woman in the first place. Much smarter than his average fans, for sure. He’d had fun hunting down and playing with a couple of them that lived a couple of states away, together with Angel. It was quite amazing how different people could be when they could hide behind a keyboard and the apparent anonymity of a computer screen. Easy to claim they’d let him murder them and turn them into beautiful art pieces when they thought they were shouting into the void, only to piss their pants in fear and beg for mercy when they were actually face to face with him.

Well, except for one guy… though Antoine preferred not to dwell on that infuriating experience. Then again, it had been interesting to let Angel take over for once.

Well, anyway. Aside from stroking his already massive ego with flattering words, the book also happened to contain plenty of high-quality photos of his older works. It was easy to tell which ones were his favorites from the way the internal spine was cracking in some parts. He got nostalgic about those days, sometimes, and looking at those pictures helped him relive those memories. But it was not just that...

There was no pornography to be found anywhere in his room, or anywhere else in the house for that matter. It would have been of no use to him, he would not find it arousing. But watching his old works and remembering the pain of each victim…ah, that really got him going.

By the time he heard Angel’s footsteps outside the room, Antoine had unzipped his trousers and freed his erection, leisurely stroking himself as he let his memories take him back to the time he’d kidnapped and tortured a cute boy who worked part-time as a florist. Jake Stratton – he knew his name because the book mentioned it rather than because he cared to remember it – had gorgeous cornflower blue eyes and he’d wept beautifully while he was alive. After granting him the mercy of death, Antoine had stolen those eyes and put flowers in the empty sockets. Too bad he couldn’t keep his souvenir after he was arrested. It was probably archived somewhere with the rest of the evidence in the musty archive of some police station. Sure, he _could_ have tried to retrieve it after escaping but, frankly? It wasn’t _that_ important to him.

Once Angel’s steps came closer, his hands came to rest on Antoine’s shoulders and one of them slid down, lingering on his neck for a moment – was he thinking of closing his fingers around his throat? Was there still some resentment inside his heart, Antoine wondered, amused and intrigued by the inner workings of his fun little pet – before moving lower and sliding underneath his shirt, caressing his chest and stopping above his heart. Warm lips kissed his jaw and his cheek, and when Angel spoke his voice was almost vibrating with need.

“I’m done, daddy,” he said, nuzzling Antoine’s hair and unbuttoning his shirt. “What are you rea-” He stiffened once he realized what Antoine was looking at. The older man couldn’t help but chuckle.

Angel sighed loudly, then moved one hand to Antoine’s chin to lift his head and make him look up at him.

“Why are you still thinking about them? Aren’t I enough?” he asked, sounding almost like a scorned lover.

“Don’t be jealous of the dead, my pet,” Antoine replied, moving his hand away from his cock and closing the book. He reached out to grasp on Angel’s hair and pull him down into a kiss, which the younger man was eager to reciprocate.

Poor little Angel, so fragile and insecure. Just the way he raised him to be.

“I don’t like the way you look at them,” Angel complained once he broke the kiss, nuzzling Antoine’s cheek and holding him from behind the chair. “I want you to only look at me like that.”

“Spoiled brat,” Antoine replied, chuckling again. Angel’s face was clean-shaven and soft. He’d washed it before coming there, Antoine could smell the scent of soap. “Take off your clothes. Looks like daddy’s gonna have to spank his bad child.”

“Yes, daddy.” There was a little fear in Angel’s voice, but mostly excitement. Antoine turned his chair once Angel moved away, so that he could stare at him as he did what he asked him to.

The shirt came off first, right after he’d placed his glasses on the desk. The more buttons were opened, the more scars were revealed, as well as a few still-healing wounds. Angel’s chest and abdomen were otherwise smooth, with just a line of faint light brown hairs along his stomach. One of the piercings on his pink nipples shimmered as the light from the window hit it. Antoine had put them on him with his own hands. Angel had hated them back then, but now he seemed glad to have them, especially after learning he’d never done that with any of his victims. Angel liked anything that made him feel special.

Next were the socks and jeans. Almost no part of his body had been spared from Antoine’s assaults, so more scars and marks were visible along his thighs. Much like Antoine’s, his body was lean and lightly muscular, but his skin was firmer and softer, with very few wrinkles on his face. He also wasn’t quite so pale and his skin had a pink-red undertone rather than an olive one. He didn’t look much like his real father at first glance, but there were a few little things that Antoine had caught on, back when he’d been toying with Seth and forcing him to play his devious little game. Not that he disliked the reminder, after all he’d been the only winner in the end.

When the boxers were pulled down and carefully folded and placed aside with the rest of the clothes, Antoine wasn’t surprised to see that Angel was half-hard. He wasn’t sure if it was his younger age or one more way Angel’s mind had been warped by his past torture, but his pet was a lustful little thing. Always eager to be touched and toyed with.

To think he’d once hated physical contact… well, he still did, when it came to other people, but with Antoine he was always all over him even when they weren’t fucking. It could get annoying sometimes, but for the most part Antoine did not mind. It was kind of endearing.

“Come here Angel. Over my knees.”

The younger man strode up to him, his fast pace betraying his eagerness as much as the way he spread his legs after he’d laid his body on Antoine’s, arms hanging limply on the other side, cock pressing against one of his clothed thighs. Antoine knew he would stain his trousers, but he didn’t mind. It would give him an excuse to scold him later. His own cock was pressed against the man’s side, rather than under his belly. Angel had been careful not to lie on it, on purpose.

“Why do I get the feeling this isn’t much of a punishment?” Antoine mused out loud, his hand moving down to fondle Angel’s balls and cock, drawing a soft gasp and a needy moan out of him. He groped him until he was fully hard, then he let go and stroked his cheeks instead, moving his hand in a circular motion around his ass. “What a dirty boy you are.”

He slapped one of his cheeks harshly, grinning as he heard the satisfying _smack!_ of his palm hitting Angel’s softer skin. He struck him again, twice, watching as his left ass cheek turned a brighter pink, the skin slightly warm to the touch when he caressed it.

“What do you have to say, my pet?” he asked, squeezing down and digging his fingers into that perky round cheek, pulling on his flesh and exposing his puckered hole. He did not try to tease it yet, instead he spanked his other cheek right as Angel started talking.

“M-Aah!” he cried out, turning his face to glance at him, and his face was even redder than his ass, his lips curled up into a mischievous smile. “More…”

Antoine clicked his tongue in disapproval. “Insolent little bitch.” Still, he amused him by slapping each cheek twice, before grasping on his balls hard enough to make him whine in pain. “What sort of punishment is it, if you’re fucking begging me for more?”

“Aah!” Angel cried out, and this time there was genuine pain in his voice. “I-I’m sorry, da-”

“No you’re not.” Antoine squeezed down harder. “Not _yet_.” He let go but shoved two fingers inside him, down to the second knuckle. The dry penetration seemed to hurt him despite how many times he’d been fucked, in all sorts of ways and by all sorts of things. Antoine had only gotten more creative over the years. He could feel him tensing, could feel his insides squeezing his fingers. He forced them down with one thrust, drawing a sharp cry out of him. He knew that wasn’t arousing to Angel, but that was precisely what made it all the more satisfying to _him_. His own cock was twitching as he twisted his fingers inside him, tormenting him, at times brushing his prostate on purpose to confuse him.

“Are you going to be a good pet?” he asked, spreading his fingers apart, grinning when he heard him whine and saw him nod frantically.

“Yes, sir, yes! Please!”

Antoine’s grin widened.

“Will you bring me my knife?” he whispered, chuckling as he heard a sob escape his lips.

Angel glanced up at him, eyes wet with unshed tears. There was fear in those eyes, but his lips still twitched, the corners slowly turning up into a meek smile.

“W-which-” he paused for a moment, swallowing loudly and licking his lips. “Which one, daddy?”

“Oh, but you know the one,” Antoine replied, hardly suppressing the excitement in his own voice, eyes glinting with a dangerous light. “My big hunting knife, darling. All the better to cut you up with.” His fingers finally slid out of Angel’s hole, and he absent-mindedly wiped them on the hair of his pet. “Take out the towels too, will you? Wouldn’t want to get the bedsheets too dirty.”

Angel shivered visibly, his face showing his conflict before he turned it away. He got up slowly, or rather he moved to climb up on Antoine’s lap, pressing their erections together and wrapping his arms around him as he kissed him. Antoine allowed it, kissing him back and taking control of it, grasping on his hair to force him to tilt his head as he did so. He was the one who decided when to stop it, keeping his hand in his hair as he brushed his lips against his ear.

“You know what day it is, my pet?” he asked. “Twelve days from now, there’s going to be a very special day,” he reminded him.

Angel pulled back a little to look up at him, cowering and shaking his head.

“No,” he whined, his hands moving to caress his face, his lips, his chest. “No, daddy, please…”

“Aw, come on love, you don’t want to say hi to your _real_ daddy?” Antoine asked, bringing one hand down to grasp on both of their lengths, stroking them together. “Don’t you miss him at all? I’m sure he misses you…”

“I don’t care! I don’t want to!” Angel replied, shaking his head again and trying to get down, but Antoine held him in place.

“Baby, it’s been ten years,” he cooed, holding him tightly and speaking in a soft voice. “We’ve talked about this-”

“I don’t want him to come and find us again,” Angel protested, sounding almost as scared as when he’d previously threatened to get rid of him. “I don’t want him to take me away.”

Antoine couldn’t help but laugh.

“You think I’d let him take you away from me?” he asked, nuzzling him with an unusual gentleness. “Angel… my cute little pet, my love, do you think I wouldn’t kill him first? That I wouldn’t kill _you_ rather than let him have you?”

“You promise?” Angel’s voice trembled, a deranged hope in his eyes. His fingers pressing against his lips, tracing his cheekbones, sinking into his hair. “Daddy, you promise me, right? You’ll never leave me? You’ll never let anyone have me if not you?”

“Of course I do,” he easily lied, easily feigned a warmth he did not, could not, possess. “And you, my love? What would you give, if I asked?”

Angel’s eyes were so full of love and tenderness, it was easily the most pathetic thing Antoine had ever seen.

“Everything, daddy.”

“Oh my Angel, my dear boy,” Gabriel whispered to the poor wretched thing, planting delicate kisses along his throat, holding back from sinking his teeth into the delicate skin. _You foolish little thing_ , he thought, hiding his smirk against the curve of his neck. So pitiful and so broken, still drinking all of his lies like it was the sweetest poison. Handing his still-beating heart to a wild beast, while somehow expecting it not to tear it apart. “What a big heart you have.”

_All the better to fool you with._

His lips went down to his chest, mouth closing on one of his nipples. He sucked and licked it, teasing the sensitive nub until it hardened before making him feel his teeth, biting down sharply. He felt fingers in his hair, heard soft cries turn into louder moans, Angel’s hips moving to rub his cock against Antoine’s before he grasped on his waist to keep him still, glancing up at his blue eyes and pulling on the piercing with his teeth until he heard him cry out in both pain and pleasure.

“Go get my knife, Angel. Don’t make me repeat myself again,” he reminded him, giving another small lick to his nipple before he let go of his waist so that Angel could get down and comply with his requests.

Antoine used the spare time to undress, getting up from the comfortable office chair to pile his clothes up on it, carefully folding each piece to keep it from wrinkling. Once he was done he stretched, feeling a few joints crack loudly. How unfortunate. Art was immortal, but the same could not be said for his body. Though he took great care of it, he still couldn’t stop the passage of time. It would have been quite convenient if he could have, like the man in that novel from Oscar Wilde, _The Picture of Dorian Gray_. He remembered thinking what a fool Dorian was, to throw everything away because of his dirty conscience.

Then again, maybe that was because he himself didn’t really have much of a conscience, so he couldn’t quite understand how that could feel. To be so crushed by the weight of his own sins, to be betrayed by his own heavy heart.

He could easily imagine that happening to Angel. The poor little thing. He wasn’t like him, he wasn’t born a beast, rather he’d been turned into one. He would not be able to bear the weight of his sins if Antoine hadn’t been there to wipe his tears and whisper sweet nothings in his ears whenever he woke up screaming from a night terror. To hold him and kiss him better, to tell him that he wanted – no, _needed_ him by his side, that he never would leave him, that he was _special_ …

No, Angel did not find the same pleasure Antoine did in torturing and killing, but he was capable of it because he loved him, because he trusted him so blindly and completely. It was the same fragile, gentle heart that had once made him so innocent and righteous, that made it possible for him to kill and torture and follow Antoine’s footsteps so closely, going along with his dark desires just so that he would not disappoint him.

Antoine was sure that his Angel would have done anything, no matter how cruel, no matter how deranged, if it meant he could be showered in praise, if it meant it would warm up Antoine’s cold black heart even for a moment. It was his limitless capacity for love that made him ruthless, his endless desire for the affection of a man that, deep down, he most likely knew could never truly feel even an ounce of the same love for him. Still, he would be content with the slightest sliver of it, he would kneel at Antoine’s feet and lick the crumbs off the floor if that was all that he was given, and he would thank him for it all the same.

Looking at the tall mirror in the room, Antoine checked himself out. His black hair was graying, even his pubes had a couple white curls scattered here and there, and there were a few more on the sparse hair on his chest, though not along the line in the middle of his abdomen. His body had relaxed a bit over the years, he was still lean and lightly muscular but he could see that his skin was not quite as firm as it used to be, that even the tone was a little duller. He did what he could, he ate well and exercised, he moisturized, and he figured that, while he had looked better, he could have looked worse at fifty-six. He could have stopped smoking, but it was too ingrained of a habit by that point and he enjoyed the gesture. Sitting by the window with a cigarette in one hand, a glass of wine in the other, he felt it was one of those simple pleasures that made life worth living. Plus, he enjoyed the face Angel made whenever he burned one of his cigarettes on his thighs.

He looked down at his cock, which was still as hard as before. The dark red tip was fully exposed. He was not circumcised. His father hadn’t wanted it, and Antoine was more than content with the way it looked. He wasn’t huge and it was kind of slender, but he figured it was proportioned to the rest of his body. He kept his pubes trimmed for a cleaner look. He demanded the same from Angel, and from time to time he made him shave or wax just to change things up though he wasn’t going to follow his example. The only parts of himself he shaved were his face and his armpits. Looking at it closely, Antoine could see the dark shadow of his beard lurking underneath his clean-shaven face.

He was so focused that he barely noticed the movement behind him before hearing Angel’s footsteps, turning to look at him as he placed two large towels on the bed and then approached him, knife in hand. He recognized the large hunting knife, one of his few possessions he’d managed to recover after his escape. The one he more or less inherited after his father’s death, despite his mother’s best attempts to get rid of his hunting tools.

Antoine smirked as he thought back to her. She _knew_ before most. Not the full extent of it, not at first, but she could tell there was something about him that wasn’t quite right. He remembered their last conversation. Her telling him she should have smothered him in his sleep, that she would have if she knew. Though, deep down, maybe she’d always known.

He smirked at the memory. Her pale face contorted in disdain, her weakened body trembling on the hospital bed. He hadn’t resented her. He’d almost felt pity for her, or as close as someone like him could come to feeling pity. She’d been alive when he left, probably not for long given the degeneration of her body, the disease that steadily consumed her, but he had had no reason to resent her nor regard her as a threat.

A poor sick woman who gave birth to a dreadful monster. Probably died alone and cursing his name. The thought only amused him.

He was distracted from his musings when Angel reached out for him, his movements careful, flipping the knife in his hand so that the handle was facing Antoine. Clearly showing him his submission, the fact that he would not even dare to threaten him even though he could have. Maybe he even would have had a chance to get away with it, who knew. Not like he would have dared.

Staring at the knife, Antoine thought of how he could have grasped it abruptly and sliced up Angel’s palm, but he didn’t. Instead, he gently picked it up before grasping on Angel’s wrist and pulling him closer, making him stand in front of him as they both faced the mirror.

Angel kept his gaze low, as if he was ashamed. He was quite a bit shorter than him. Antoine easily towered over him by at least ten inches, if not more. He liked how small Angel was. It made him feel more powerful. Not that he needed to be bigger than him to threaten him, not anymore, but it still pleased him.

Speaking of being bigger than him, Angel’s cock was no exception. Sometimes he’d let him fuck his victims first, so that he could still enjoy how tight their virgin holes would feel before Antoine got to open them up with his own cock. Though it had taken some conditioning to get him to do that.

Angel really hadn’t wanted to stick it in, the first time, not while the boy was still struggling and begging him for mercy. So, Antoine had cut his throat so he could stop squirming and running his mouth off, but for some reason then Angel got too soft to fuck him. He’d had to fuck his pet to get him hard again, and even then he’d freaked when he’d forced him to try and get it in the by-then-lifeless boy.

Antoine had laughed at his squeamishness. “Come on, it’s still warm and fresh,” he’d reasoned, but apparently that hadn’t been much of a convincing argument since Angel had sicked all over it. They’d had to melt the body to avoid leaving too much evidence behind, which had been a damn shame. But oh well, at least the next time he’d asked Angel to fuck someone he did it without question.

Antoine’s hand went down to Angel’s cock, which had deflated a bit but was still half-hard. It didn’t take long for it to get back to its full glory, after all he knew how and where to touch him to get him going. He’d had plenty of time to learn everything about his body.

“Daddy,” Angel gasped, leaning his body against his when Antoine moved in closer. The blade against his neck made him stiffen, and he glanced up at him through the mirror, probably to try and read his expression. Antoine just smirked. There was no anger in his eyes, so the other slowly relaxed, even if not completely.

One of Angel’s hands went up to hold on to him, while he tilted his head back and exposed his throat to him as if to show his submission. Antoine let out a small pleased noise, the sharp tip of his knife trailing along his pet’s neck, scraping at his skin and leaving the faintest red line. He heard him hiss in pain, but felt his cock twitch in his hand.

“Stay still,” he murmured, lips ghosting against Angel’s, tongue darting out to lick at the small cut he’d left on his lower lip. “Wouldn’t want my hand to slip, now, would we?”

Angel only moaned in response, parting his lips, but Antoine ignored the invitation. He licked his cheek and his ear, biting down on his lobe, while his knife trained down and reached his collarbone. He pressed down harder, glancing at the mirror to watch the blood spill, feeling a rush of pleasure as Angel flinched and bit his lip to try and hold back a small cry. It was a shallow cut, but he knew his pet was a sensitive one.

“Look at yourself,” he ordered, and Angel hesitated for a moment, flushing and looking uncomfortable. He didn’t seem to like his own image. Antoine wasn’t quite sure of the reason. He’d done many things to him, but he couldn’t recall ever insulting his looks, except maybe by pointing out the fact that he was growing older to make sure Angel would work harder to keep him interested in him. But he’d always praised his beauty, even now that he wasn’t quite as young and delicate as before. Even as he neared his thirties he was ravishingly beautiful, especially when he cried in pain.

“Why are you ashamed?” he asked, but Angel didn’t answer, not even when the tip of his knife trailed down until it reached his right nipple, a light clinking sound as the metal of the blade hit one of the small steel spheres that poked out at each side of the pink nub.

“Angel,” he said in a warning tone, his right hand leaving his cock to reach down for his balls, squeezing down in a silent threat. The smaller man gasped out loud, his blue eyes glancing up to meet Antoine’s.

“I don’t like it,” Angel whispered.

Antoine clicked his tongue, tapping the flat part of his knife against his nipple. It clinked again, each time, and he could see that it was puckering up. Whether from the cold blade or from arousal, he was not sure.

“Why?” he insisted.

“Because-” Angel bit his tongue, frowning and looking down.

“Because?”

“I just don’t.”

Antoine wasn’t satisfied with the answer. His hand moved swiftly, leaving a small cut under his nipple, drawing a sharp cry out of him.

“Don’t play these games with me, boy,” he growled against his ear, his right hand moving on his cock again, fingers lightly brushing along his length. He wasn’t going to get away with such a vague answer. He would not tolerate his pet to have an attitude.

“I… I don’t like it. It’s… I don’t like how I look when I’m…”

“When you’re _what?_ ”

Angel shook his head. Feeling like he was starting to lose his patience, Antoine let go of his cock and grasped on his hair, pulling on it to force him to lift his gaze.

“Look at you, my little pet. What do you see?”

Angel muttered something so softly that Antoine couldn’t hear it. He brought his blade down, opening a long, diagonal cut in his abdomen, shallow enough not to hurt his fragile little organs underneath.

“Speak up, _slut_ ,” he hissed, his tone growing colder. Angel stiffened and glanced up at him through his reflection, his eyes wet with unshed tears.

“Disgusting,” he whispered.

Antoine clicked his tongue again, but he let go of his hair.

“You’re not disgusting at all,” he told him, his knife moving down to his thighs, tapping at them to make him spread them.

Angel hesitated for a few moments, Antoine could see him opening and closing his mouth a few times, and when he spoke his tone was firm, but his voice trembled slightly, as if he was about to choke up and start crying.

“We’re _both_ disgusting.”

Antoine was surprised by the bravery of his pet. He couldn’t help but laugh. He wasn’t even slightly offended.

“What’s so disgusting, my love?” he asked, caressing his face and leaning in to rest his chin against Angel’s shoulder, rubbing his own cheek against his. “Is it disgusting to be honest about our own desires? To live life as we’re meant to, not as we’re told?” His blade moved slowly this time, slicing up a thin line along Angel’s inner thigh. Angel’s lips parted, a sharp cry slipping from them, and Antoine couldn’t hold back from sliding his fingers inside. Humming in approval as he saw and felt Angel’s mouth close on them, his tongue gently caressing them while he sucked on them at the same time.

“Don’t you think it’s much more disgusting to lie to yourself, to limit yourself and blindly follow what everyone around you says is right to do just because you’re scared of their judgment?” he asked, slowly pushing his fingers in deeper, then pulling them out, repeating the motion and causing some drool to leak down on Angel’s chin. “And whose judgment anyway? Your father’s? The Lord’s?” He chuckled and pulled his fingers out, then brought them down between Angel’s buttocks to find and push against his tight hole. This time they went in more easily, the slight lubrication helping them slide in more smoothly. It seemed to be less painful for Angel, who tensed up but also flushed, his pupils dilating as Antoine sliced up his thigh again.

“Do you think I have a soul, baby?” he asked, lifting his head to whisper against his ear.

“Yes,” Angel replied, turning his face to look straight into his eyes, his own lips brushing Antoine’s.

The older man grinned, amused by his response.

“So you worry for my soul? How sweet…” he told him, making him turn around and kissing him as he worked his fingers inside of him, looking for his prostate. He knew he had found it when he felt Angel’s hand grasp on his arm, his breath hitching and his kiss growing even hungrier.

“You know,” he whispered against his lips, in between kisses. “My mother used to say I had no soul. That the Devil himself must have had his hand in my creation, for I could not be a child of God.”

“You have a soul,” Angel insisted once Antoine pulled back. Staring up at him with an intense expression in his eyes. “I _know_ you have a soul.”

Gabriel pushed his fingers against his prostate and opened another shallow cut in his thigh at the same time, causing him to writhe and gasp against him.

“Is it black like tar?” he asked, licking the blood off of his knife, then twirling it in his hand.

“If you didn’t have a soul, you would have killed me already,” Angel replied, closing his eyes and resting his face against Antoine’s chest, pressing his ear against it. Perhaps to feel his heartbeat, “You… saved me.”

“I did,” Antoine replied, his heart racing in excitement as he thought of the wonderful surprise they would prepare together for Seth. He had yet to decide on the details, but he had many ideas and he knew it had to be grand. He wondered if the man was still searching for his son, or if he’d given up at last. He hoped he was still alive. He would have been quite annoyed if it turned out the bastard had killed himself right before their ten-year-anniversary. Hopefully that little bitch he’d spared was still keeping him company. “I had to, you know.”

“Your heart is beating so fast,” Angel murmured, caressing his chest with the hand that wasn’t holding on to him, moaning and moving his hips to follow the slow rhythm of Antoine’s fingers.

“Because you’re with me.”

Antoine knew what he wanted to hear. He knew he wanted him to make him feel like he was special. Putting his knife down on the nearby dresser, he held Angel close while he kept on preparing him, his fingers no longer moving as easily since spit made for dreadful lube, really, but the other didn’t seem to care.

“My beautiful creature, my lovely little Angel. You’re my most perfect work of art so far,” he told him. “I knew right away that there was something special in you, that you were one of my kind. I knew I’d never let you go.”

And there it was. _Bang!_ , straight to the heart. He could see it in his eyes, in the way he looked up at him adoringly. The poor thing had no idea he was stringing him along… or maybe he did, and he just chose not to acknowledge him. Either way, Antoine was more than happy to feed into his delusions.

“I love you,” Angel said, smiling when Antoine’s hand went to caress his cheek, smearing some of the blood from his cuts on it. “I love you, Daddy.”

Antoine smirked.

“I know.”

He pulled his fingers out of him and carried him to the bed, picking him up like a princess and then laying him down on the towels.

Angel grasped on his arms before he could move back, tugging on them to pull him towards him, until Antoine caved in and climbed on top of him.

“Which toy should we play with, this time?” he wondered out loud, caressing his body and smearing some of the blood on his pale skin. Most of it was already starting to dry up, though some of the deeper cuts were still oozing blood. He was reminded of his first known victim, or at least the first one that earned him his nickname ‘The Blood Painter’, back when he was still free to hunt and openly display his works. Of how he’d used the boy’s body like a canvas and the blood like ink, following a sudden inspiration and creating his very first masterpiece. Of how he’d watched the light leave those pale gray eyes as the red flowed copiously from the much deeper wounds.

Angel looked up at him and brought a hand between his legs, grasping and stroking on Antoine’s length. “Can’t I have your cock today?” he asked, licking his lips and glancing down at it with desire.

“Baby, you know that daddy can’t move his hips as well as he used to,” Antoine reminded him with a small chuckle, though he didn’t mind amusing his whims for time to time. “Hand me the lube.”

“Yes, daddy.” Angel rushed to open the drawer on one of the nightstands, the one on his side. That was where they kept a lot of the fun things they could use on such occasions, including cock rings and lube.

“Will you ride it for me, baby?” Antoine asked once Angel handed a small bottle to him, pouring the viscous liquid in his hand to warm it up before applying it to his own cock, enough to ease the friction and allow for a smooth fuck but not _too_ much. It didn’t matter if Angel was comfortable, and he always seemed to love it anyway.

Once he laid down on the bed he watched as Angel climbed on top of him, grasping on his cock again as he lowered his hips and angled his body and Antoine’s length so that he could push it in, little by little. Antoine could have grasped on his hips and forced him down, forcing him to take it all at once, but he didn’t. Instead, he smiled encouragingly and watched with leisure as Angel slowly started to fuck himself on his dick.

“Daddy,” Angel called out once his ass touched Antoine’s pelvis, the whole length of the other’s cock buried deep inside his body, the velvet heat of his insides gripping Antoine’s length in the most delicious way. His arms were resting against Antoine’s shoulders and he was panting, a wanton expression on his face and his eyes glazed with lust. If his real daddy could see him then, how much would his heart bleed? How deep of a wound would that be for him, after all the horrible ways in which Antoine had already tortured his son in front of him? Was the wound still fresh, or would he be too desensitized to feel anything? Maybe regard Angel as a stranger, a horrible man who had nothing in common with the sweet boy he’d raised with such care after the death of his wife, even if unable to fully connect to him and show him the extent of his affection. If Antoine had been able to squeeze his way into Angel’s heart, it was thanks to that gap that Seth had left behind.

A few drops of blood fell down on Antoine’s torso as sweat started to slick up their bodies, melting some of the dried-up liquid like watercolor. The older man brought one hand up to Angel’s chest to play with one of his nipples, pinching on it and then pulling harshly on his piercing until he heard him cry out in both pain and pleasure. It was not the same as his kills, but it was still exciting in a different way. Antoine had never thought he could enjoy sex with someone he wasn’t planning to kill, but Angel was something else. Maybe he really was special, after all.

“You’ve missed it, haven’t you?” he asked him, his voice husky and breathy. Even as he let Angel do most of the work, he still moved his hips to thrust himself faster inside of him, guiding him with one hand to rush his pace. “My cock, that is.”

Angel nodded and moaned out loud when he was rewarded with a particularly harsh thrust. His own length was rock hard and dripping precum, but he didn’t dare to touch himself. He was doing his best to ride Antoine hard and fast, and when the older man moved his hand along his body and dug his fingers into one of the fresh cuts, he cried out in pain but his cock twitched happily all the same.

“I know you touch yourself at night, while I’m asleep. I know that your body is calling out to me, like a siren. That you miss the taste of it, the way it fills you up. It’s not the same with a toy, is it?”

“N-noh,” Angel cried out, unable to keep his voice down. Antoine had to wonder if they were loud enough for someone outside to hear, the thought only bringing a smirk to his lips.

“What would that sweet old lady think, if she heard you moaning so lewdly?” he taunted him, enjoying the slight distress he could read in his eyes. “If she knew how much you love your _daddy_.”

“I-I can’t… I can’t help it,” Angel whined, his moans only getting louder. “You… taught me this pleasure… Ah! I can’t…”

“That’s alright, baby.” Antoine’s hand slowly trailed down along his abdomen, reaching for his weeping erection and firmly grasping on it, causing him to gasp and shudder on top of him. “You wanna cum, don’t you?”

“Y-yes,” Angel cried, trying to somehow thrust himself into his hand while also riding his cock at the same time, whimpering in frustration when that proved to be impossible. “I-I wanna cum… daddy, _please_.”

“You need to wait, baby,” Antoine replied, chuckling at the loud whimper that followed his words. “Come on… come on, don’t you wanna cum with daddy?” he taunted him, feeling his own pleasure mounting up, his own climax steadily approaching, though not as fast as Angel’s, of course.

_Ah, to be young again…_

“You’re not gonna cum without permission, are you?” he asked, his voice lowering into a slightly threatening tone. He grinned as he saw him shake his head, and his free hand went up to grasp on Angel’s neck, squeezing on it. “You wouldn’t want me to use the cage on you again, right?”

“N-no, I-I won’t… I won’t, but please… _please_ …”

Every desperate sound, every pained wince brought Antoine closer and closer to his release, almost even more so that the way Angel’s body squeezed down on his cock even after all that time. Though that nice, warm hole certainly was one of the best qualities of his pet.

Even when he felt that he was almost on the verge of cumming, Antoine held back for a while longer just so that he could get to see the other man struggle and cry in frustration, his own hand slick with the precum that steadily dripped from Angel’s cock while he teased and stroked his length to see if he could drive him over the edge even after all those years of rigorous training.

“D-daddy… Ah…aah, p-please… I can’t, _I can’t…_ ” Angel was almost sobbing, tears of frustration streaming freely down his cheeks. His movements were erratic, his whole body shaking from his desperation as well as the effort of riding him for so long, still he was doing his best to please him. _Like any good toy should._

 _This is it,_ Antoine decided, feeling that he couldn’t wait anymore. Letting go of Angel’s cock and his neck, he grasped on his hips instead and forced him to pull out, then pushed him down on the bed to penetrate him again before he could even _try_ to protest.

“Touch yourself for me,” he growled, grasping on his thighs and pushing them up against his torso, fucking him as hard as he could. He knew he would be sore the next day but he didn’t care, he was enjoying himself too much. “There we go… let’s cum together baby,” he told him, grinning as he saw him furiously stroke his cock with reckless abandon. “Come on… show your daddy how much you love this… go ahead and cum for me, Angel.”

It only took one last push to drive him past his limit, and Angel finally arched up and came, practically howling out in pleasure as he did so. The way he squeezed down as his body convulsed from the pleasure was enough to force an orgasm out of Antoine, who gripped on his thighs with bruising force as he came and filled him up with a loud groan. He did not stop pumping his hips until he was done, and even then he did not pull out of him until his cock softened fully.

Angel pulled him into a tight hug before Antoine could even get up or move aside, kissing him in between his fatigued panting.

“I love you,” he whispered then, burying his face into Antoine’s neck. “I love you… please don’t ever leave me.”

“Don’t worry, baby,” Antoine replied, chuckling and caressing his soft brown locks. “You’re stuck with me. You and me, forever.”

“I’ll never forgive you if you try to leave me,” Angel replied, his voice trembling, his hands grasping on his body as if he feared he might suddenly get up and abandon him there. “Promise me you’ll stay with me.”

“It wouldn’t be as much fun without you, my darling,” Antoine told him. “I would kill you rather than give you up, you know.” For as long as he entertained him, at least. “One day, perhaps, when the world will be ready, we won’t have to hide what we are, what we are doing.”

When Angel’s grip finally loosened, Antoine moved to the side and leaned on his own arm, staring down at him with a serious expression.

“This isn’t just a solo project anymore. We’re in this together. And you’ll have to carry on and finish the job for me, when the time comes. You understand, right?” he asked him, his tone soft but firm as he went to pet his hair. “Can you do that for me, my love?”

Angel smiled at him, closing his eyes and nuzzling Antoine’s hand.

“Anything, for you.”

Antoine wasn’t quite sure Angel understood, but it was alright. He didn’t need him to. All he needed was for him to trust him and do everything he asked him to without question, no matter what.

As for himself, Antoine didn’t care what happened as long as he could follow his nature, his calling, his sole _raison d'être_. And, when and if the time came, he knew he would not hesitate to strike.

Even if it were to destroy them both


End file.
